


Starburst

by Sproutling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Impala Feels, Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Fic, Kid Sam Winchester, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Sleep, Sleepy Cuddles, Stars, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sproutling/pseuds/Sproutling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “Look up Sammy.  See the stars Sammy?” </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or: Flashing streetlights and endless dark stretches in the back of a moving car is not the way to get restful sleep.  Dean fixes it.  Forts are built.  A maid is unimpressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starburst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daily/gifts).



The darkness burst rhythmically into fluorescent light with every few rotations of the Impala’s tyres as she carried the family of three through pools of streetlights and the shadow space in between.  The world looked stranger than usual from where Sam watched it passing by the window, his head resting in Dean’s lap.  It was dizzying, the way the streetlights swung in and out of view every few seconds.  The brightness too bright, the following darkness too dark; it was disorientating and made it impossible for him to sleep, no matter how soothing he found it to have Dean’s hand, already calloused and capable at the age of ten, combing and teasing at his hair. 

He whined in the back of his throat when their dad – wholly focused on the road and the classic rock floating softly from the stereo – failed to avoid several pot holes, jolting Sam’s body and Dean’s leg under his head.  Dean shushed him and scritched his nails lightly at Sam’s scalp but nothing could soothe Sam to sleep.  His brother seemed to recognise this and laid a warm hand over Sam’s tired eyes, forcing them to close. 

“Sleep Sammy,” Dean murmured, his other hand resting on Sam’s chest.  He was in Dean’s hands, safe.  He reluctantly, finally, slept.  It wasn't the first or the last time sleep had been hard to come by for the brothers.  The Impala was like home but, after half a dozen years, the cities, main roads and highways still filled the car with noise, light and a restless insomnia it was impossible to become accustomed to.  Sam had never known better but Dean still remembered, with wistful vagueness, his very own bedroom with his soft bed, surrounded by toys and watched over by angels and glow in the dark planets stuck to the ceiling. 

It had been his and perfect and he missed it, but he was old enough to recognise that they were lucky to be alive and together.  It didn't make him miss that place that had meant home and safety any less.  It didn't stop him from wishing he had his own space again, a place he could rest that was his. 

 

* * *

 

It was two days later, at a gas station in what their dad had called (under his breath) Bumfuck, Minnesota, that Dean thought he might have found the answer to Sammy’s sleeping problem.  He couldn't deny the appeal he found in the palm-sized cardboard and plastic package either.  He considered asking his dad for the money but ultimately decided to go without his afternoon snack instead, taking Sammy’s hand and the little package to pay for their ‘snacks’ and gas with the cash their dad had given Dean.  Sam looked curious but didn't ask, looking worn and bleary-eyed and too tired to maintain curiosity.  Dean hoped he could fix that. 

Last night had been worse than the night before,  the disruptive streetlights giving way to complete suffocating darkness that filled the car like swamp water and had Sam gripping Dean’s hand and shirt in white-knuckled fear all night, afraid of losing his brother altogether.  With a pat to the pocket he’d stashed his surprise in, Dean led Sam back to the car. 

 

* * *

 

Sam dozed fitfully against Dean’s side, burrowing closer every time the car bounced its way over a pothole until his nose was smushed between Dean’s ribs hard enough that the older boy knew it couldn't be comfortable.  With one arm around Sam’s tiny shoulders, Dean withdrew the faintly glowing package from his pocket and fumbled it open one-handed. 

It was difficult to stretch his ten year old arm to the ceiling of the car over and over without disturbing his limpet-like brother, but he managed to create a passable likeness of several constellations their dad had taught him just in case he got lost and needed to find north, _because only morons rely on something that gets screwy because of a damn fridge magnet_. 

He stilled and tried to look inconspicuous every time he heard shifting from the front seat.  If he’d noticed the curious eyes silently watching him in the rear view mirror he may well have wet himself from shock, so sure was he of his stealth.  Instead he settled back with an incredibly self-satisfied grin on his face and examined his dimly glowing handiwork, hoping for more sun tomorrow.  He wanted to see how bright his stars could get. 

And when Sam startled himself awake it wouldn't be to complete smothering darkness or random bursts of blinding light, but to a constant soft glow that would hold the darkness out the windows at bay and allow him to immediately recognise where he was and that Dean was next to him.  From the second he jolted awake, Dean was rubbing a hand up and down his arm and softly murmuring.

“Look up Sammy.  See the stars Sammy?”

And Sam, utterly enamoured with the glow-in-the-dark stars and planets, snuggled closer and tipped his head back on Dean’s shoulder while Dean dropped his own back on the headrest.  Sam barely blinked he was so enraptured and Dean felt pride swelling in him the calmer Sam became as he listened to Dean tell him about their stars.

 

* * *

 

Dean had suspected their dad knew about the plastic stars stuck all over the ceiling of his car and, in his ten year old wisdom, decided not to bring it up; just in case he really didn't know but knew there was _something_ and didn't know what it was yet.  Dean suspected that might have been what their dad meant when he told them how a smart man keeps his cards close to his chest. 

The night they walked into a motel room and their dad reached into his duffel and tossed Dean a familiar looking package, still sealed.  Dean began to think perhaps the man knew after all.  He ran a finger over the place where the glue held the plastic against the cardboard backing, the place he’d ripped on the pack he’d bought weeks ago, assuring himself this was a different pack and not his dad’s passive aggressive way of saying ‘don’t stick shit to my car’.  John gave him a _look_ , one Dean easily read as _did you really think I hadn't noticed?_

Dean felt dumb because yeah, he kinda had.  His dad shook his head but didn't seem angry, or even annoyed.  He gathered Sam from where he was examining beneath one of the beds – always one to confirm the monsters were under there before going to Dean or dad about them – and told them to watch out for each other.  He said it ostensibly to Dean, who thought it must make him feel better to vocalise the order aloud because it certainly didn't need to be said for Dean’s benefit.  Sam nodded solemnly from where he was leaning against Dean’s leg and said he would.  Their dad nodded back, straight faced and serious, his eyes twinkling like they did on the rare occasions he laughed.  Before he left – salt lines, locked door, _don’t leave the room_ – he pointed at the package Dean held in one hand, bringing Sam’s attention to it for the first time.

_You leave ‘em or lose ‘em and that’s it_ he said and Dean clutched them tighter and nodded, but Sammy squealed, having leaned and tip-toed until he could see what the package contained.  Though John had already turned away when he grinned, Dean could see it, and it was affectionate enough that  he wondered – were they to lose these stars – if their dad might just buy them more, regardless of his warning.  Dean thought John could use more practice at playing his cards close to his chest.

That night the two boys built a fort between the two queen beds and spent hours sticking and resticking stars to the fabric over their heads, creating constellations and concocting increasingly ridiculous stories about their meanings until they dozed off, curled around each other on the floor, and their little pillow mountain.  It wasn't the last time John returned from a hunt to find them in a starry cocoon of motel linens.  Or beneath a coffee table.  Or in an empty kitchen cupboard.  Or in a refrigerator box someone had left outside two doors down. 

 

* * *

 

Over time the stars lose their stickiness and are instead fixed in place with blutac and sticky tape and chewing gum and once, memorably, with super glue.  The maid who comes to clean that particular motel room finds the shooting star on the bedside dresser after they've left, and eventually just shifts the piece of furniture closer to the bed so it’s not visible after breaking a nail trying to pry it away.

They leave a trail of misplaced stars across the country – the littlest ones that fall out of the pack easily – but they have years of motel room constellations.  The ones in the Impala don’t move and Sam always sits as close to Dean as possible, their little galaxy starbursting from where Dean sat that night when he was ten and couldn't reach further because Sam was sleeping.

The boys grow and they learn how much bigger the world is than the motel room of the week and the Impala, but the stars don’t change, and whether it’s sitting with a beer on the bonnet or sleeping in the car between towns – Dean always lets Sam have the back, Sam always sleeps with his head resting where it once did in Dean’s lap, a cluster of stars overhead – it’s always a source of comfort; a place to rest.  A way to find sleep.  And Sam never stops looking at Dean like he hung the moon, and Dean never stops trying to give Sammy the stars.

 

* * *

 

And one day, Dean will find a room he can call his own, in a bunker he and his brother can call home and finally, _finally_ find safety in.  He will surround himself with photographs of family and a mattress that remembers him.  And on the bad nights, the nights his little brother’s memories plague him and he doesn't want to brave it alone, Dean will be glad several of their stars have survived so long and that after everything they still shine in the constellations Dean will create over his bed.    

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my talented, kind hearted big sister who deserves all the stars and glow in the dark planets ever <3


End file.
